


A Case to Document

by butterbrain



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Complete, Drabble, Gen, I started typing and I puked deduction, it's only one chapter long, its titled "a case to document" and it won't be, this is just sherlock holmes deducing things sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 09:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19664725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterbrain/pseuds/butterbrain
Summary: When something is simple to Sherlock Holmes, John Watson finds it more complicated, and always they are on opposite sides.The duo have only just settled a caper when a new one knocks on their door.





	A Case to Document

“Need I clarify?” he said.

“No,” I answered.

“Come,” Holmes said, “You think that I tease you.”

I took my seat across from him at the table and unfolded a napkin on my lap, perhaps with more force than was needed. 

“You do tease me,” I said, to which he scoffed. I continued. “You suffer from a willful determination to ignore the indistinct details of the story while assuming airs of a superior mentality. You keep secret from me the methods by which you arrive at your conclusions and laugh when I fail to nose them out. Really!”

Holmes attempted to stifle his giggling, even setting down a morsel of toast to resume a more appropriately downhearted expression.

“My dear Doctor,” he said, “I apologize if I neglected you.”

I fixed him with a peevish glare and, at length, his expression changed to one of legitimate self-reproach.

“Forgive me, Doctor. That is my weakness. In truth, it was your observation of the missing volumes and of Mister Audley’s carelessness that brought me to my conclusion.”

“That? How the location of Miss Sommer’s diamond relates to some missing volumes I fail to understand.”

Holmes smiled indulgently. “That is only natural as there is no relation. In fact, the missing volumes would have no bearing on the case whatever if Mister Audley had not revealed to us some time before that he was sad to see the volumes were missing, as he had been, for some time, using them to practice his reading.”

“But why should that be significant?” I could feel my impatience rising once again.

“Simple!” Holmes said, “It was Mister Audley who caused the letter to disappear. He had stuck it into one of those volumes to mark his place and was likely seen by Mister Kelly, who stayed with him at the house for those three days. When Mister Kelly went to steal the letter -- as this was his intent -- he carried off the volumes with them and stole whatever else was valuable in the room to cast suspicion away from himself. For why would a man as wealthy as Mister Kelly steal a single diamond?”

I absorbed this revelation as Holmes ate his breakfast.

“It all seems so simple in those terms,” I said.

“It is simple,” Holmes replied, and when he saw my face he added, “But it was you who were invaluable to making it so.”

I smiled. “I say, one of these days I’ll get an early start on some piece of investigation and best you at your own game. I’ll take the egg, and you’ll be riding on my coattails.”

He laughed, and he was about to reply to my statement when we heard a sharp knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson entered, looking not a little frazzled and competing with a mousy young man for first entrance into the room.

“Pardon me, sirs. I told him you were taking your breakfast, but he raced up the stairs before I could send him out.”

Here the young man threw himself most abruptly on the floor and, prostrating himself, said, “Mr. Holmes, I will surely die!”

In the commotion, I found myself standing, but Holmes remained seated and, in a serene manner, bid Mrs. Hudson to leave the young gentleman.

“I will see to the matter,” he said, “and the Doctor too, if he does not object.”

Mrs. Hudson retreated downstairs, and I helped the young man to a chair in the parlor. He clung to my arm and, mistaking me for my companion, said again:

“Surely, Mr. Holmes, if you do not help me I will die!”

“Now,” Holmes said, and he rose from his seat, his eyes already bright with interest. “What is it that means to kill you?”

“Grief!” said the young man.

“I think you had better tell us what is going on,” I said. 

I sat across from the young man while Holmes paced the floor. He had lit his pipe, and I introduced him on his behalf. The young man composed himself enough to do similarly.

“My name is William Larrie,” he said, “My mother is Lady Eads Larrie of Hardale.”

“Yes, so we know already,” Holmes said.

“You know me, sir?” said the young man.

“Only by what you have already told us in your manner and dress.” He lifted the young man’s arm gently to reveal the shirtsleeve. “A wealthy gentleman will wear a shirt much like this, shirred with four, five, or even six pleats behind the cuff. Your shirt and suit are well-tailored and of a suitable material, yet you are missing two buttons upon your jacket, which tells me that, recently, you have fallen upon more difficult circumstances, a fact I attribute to the death of your father one year ago.”

The young Lord Larrie shared with me a look of astonishment. “That’s correct! But how on earth could you have guessed that?”

“A black fiber on your collar, likely scraped from the trim of a woman’s bonnet. One may observe that this fiber is of a coarse material, a scratchy silk -- likely crepe, a textile worn in periods of deep morning. Whoever this woman is she is familiar with you enough to embrace you, likely a mother as you remain a bachelor.” He held up the young man’s left hand, and it was clear he meant to show the absence of any kind of ring.

“But how could you guess that it was my father who died, or that it was over one year ago?”

“Very simple,” Holmes said, “Your mother remains in deep mourning, but you appear in a light-colored suit and hat. Your period of mourning has ended, but your mother’s continues. The customary period of mourning of a son for his father is one year, but of a widow for her husband, two years. Therefore, the man for whom your mother grieves was her husband, and he died over one year ago.”

“That’s exactly so,” Larrie wondered. And then, appearing suddenly distraught, “Though I fear I may soon have reason to mourn again. It is as you said, Mr. Holmes. My father died last year in a horrible way. His body was found locked in the library and, it is difficult to say -- he had been in there for some time. You see, it was not unusual for my father to disappear for some days or weeks in succession. He was victim to foul moods, and often sought time away from my mother and I. By the time he was found it was only by his clothing and natural height that my mother could recognize him.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Do you know what caused your father’s death?” Holmes asked.

“That is why I came to speak with you today,” Larrie spoke, “Some weeks before my father’s body was discovered, our servant, Sherman Lemont, disappeared with a number of my father’s tools. My father pursued many hobbies, including carpentry, and his tools held some value. Mr. Lemont left our employ the same day my father disappeared. The apparent cause of my father’s death was a tremendous blow to the head.”

“You suspect Mr. Lemont murdered your father?” I said.

“I am sure of it,” The young man said. “Since my father’s death there has been no trace of Lemont in the country. The police believe he fled across the water or else killed himself in remorse. But there is no doubt in my mind that Mr. Lemont is alive, and that he means to kill me, or else kill someone that I care for very much.”

“Please,” Holmes said, for Mr. Larrie had grown excited.

“Excuse me,” Larrie said. 

“There has been no trace of Mr. Lemont since your father died?”

“None that has been reported, sir.”

“Yet you are convinced he will return to kill you?”

“I am gripped with this terrible conviction,” Larrie said, “and I have good reason to be for I saw him -- standing outside the window at my mother’s house, although I have not yet informed the police.”

“Did he enter?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he see you?”

‘No, sir. I barely saw him. It was some time past midnight and very dark. It was the thunder of a storm that woke me, and the flash of lightning that revealed his person to me. I know of no reason why he should like to kill my mother or father -- they treated him with consideration always. Yet there could be no reason for him to linger outside my mother’s home unless he meant to bring us harm. In fact, he carried a weapon.”

“What kind of weapon?” I asked.

“A sword,” said the young man, “Or a club. I only saw him in an instant. I did not sleep the rest of the night.”

“How terrible,” I uttered, “Holmes, you look unbothered.”

And so he did -- Holmes was walking to and fro in languid movements, puffing on his pipe, his eyes slack and far away. 

“Is that how I seem?” he asked in a dreamy voice, “Pray, Lord Larrie, have you told us all there is about this affair?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So it is for your mother’s life that you fear -- not for the life of the young lady.”

The young lord flushed with embarrassment. “Perhaps there is more that I neglected to mention.”

“Then, please.”

“There is a young lady, Miss Elizabeth Lemont.”

“The sister of Sherman Lemont, I presume.”

“That is so.”

“Did she also serve in your mother’s house?”

“She did, sir. She was my mother’s housemaid.”

“I presume that, because you neglected to mention her to us before, she is the young lady to whom you made your proposal?”

The young man now looked thoroughly shocked. “She is my fiance. Was my fiance.”

“She has changed her mind?”

“So it appears. We arranged to meet yesterday morning. We intended to ride to Gretna Green together, but after two hours’ time, she failed to appear. I thought she might have returned home to her father, but when I called on him, he vowed that she had not returned.”

“Interesting,” Holmes said. “Possibly she will reappear.”

“Very possibly,” I agreed, “My lord, if I may, what precisely is it you wish to find out?”

“I wish to find out the hiding place of that scoundrel, Sherman Lemont. If you could track him and hand him over to the police, I would be always grateful.”

“And the young lady?” Holmes asked.

Larrie looked stricken. “Think nothing of her. She has forgotten me.”

“Very well,” Holmes said. He lifted Lord Larrie by his arm and walked him to the door. “It is all highly interesting.”

“You will look into the matter?”

“I will.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes!” Larrie shook Holmes by the hand. “Thank you!”

He exited, and the door had only just closed when Holmes spun to face me, his eyes lit with a mania that was now familiar to me.

“Fascinating!” 

“I don’t see how,” I said, “The matter seems simple to me.”

“Of course, when things are simple in my mind they are complex in yours, and always we are on opposite sides.”

“The late Lord Larrie’s killer returns to the country, bent again on violence -- it is all very astounding but not at all complex. Perhaps he heard news of the affair between Lord Larrie and Miss Lemont; he disapproves.”

Holmes now pulled on his coat and hat. “Possibly, but I sense there is more here than has been revealed to us. I plan to find the young lady, Miss Lemont. Would you accompany me?”

“I would not miss it.”

“I am glad of that,” Holmes said excitedly, “I sense this case will be one to document.”

  
  



End file.
